


O Brother Mine

by GhostCwtch



Series: Ups and Downs [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Depression, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Rejection, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, back story, disbelief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-28
Updated: 2012-04-28
Packaged: 2017-11-04 11:43:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/393455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostCwtch/pseuds/GhostCwtch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the source of the fued Sherlock has with his brother. The one thing that he could never forgive. Possibly triggering.</p>
            </blockquote>





	O Brother Mine

It started out when they were little. Sherlock couldn't help but being a demanding child, not when the adults were all so stupid about the way they did things and never seemed to have the time to answer his questions. Mycroft was boring but at least he'd answer questions about the things Sherlock wanted to know, which was nearly everything back then.

He supposed that endless questioning had numbed both his parents and his brother to listening to Sherlock.

Life had trundled along, right up until the Carl Powers case. His parents wouldn't listen, the papers wouldn't listen, the police wouldn't listen. He had trusted Mycroft to listen, there at the end, when everyone else wouldn't answer the one question it all boiled down to; “Where are the shoes?” But even Mycroft, who at least tried to answer his questions, always tried no matter how silly or childish, refused to answer.

Told him to leave it.

Told him to let the real policemen and women do their jobs.

To let it go.

Sherlock had plunged head first into his first major depressive episode shortly after that, as if all the frustrated energy that had sustained him through researching the case has suddenly fallen out from under him. He'd been unable to move for hours at a time, not even laying in bed but beside it because he'd been trying to crawl to the bathroom. His family was well used to him not emerging from his room as he worked on experiments so he was allowed to lay there as his brain slowed to a dark grey crawl through wet concrete. 

Breathing was an endless chore. The carpet fibres beneath him were like sand paper against open wounds. Every facet of existence was hurting him and his eyes were leaking water, but he couldn't close them, couldn't do anything, was trapped.

It was a little easier to breathe when the rest of the house was sleeping. He could haul his form to the bathroom. He could stare into the fridge, though he didn't have the energy to eat. Even the idea of chewing takes so much out of him that he had to stop and lean heavily against the wall.

It took nearly a month to find the words and then two more weeks of think over all the different ways to die, pills and hanging being his favourite options, before he finally goes to Mycroft. He doesn't want to just as much as he does and maybe this will be one last question that his brother can answer for him.

“Mycroft.” he says, “I want to die.”

“You shouldn't say things you don't mean, Sherlock. Mother would hate to hear you say something that horrible.”

“Mycroft,” he says, “I do mean it.”

“No you don't and I'm very busy so while I'm normally willing to listen to your cries for attention, today it will have to wait.”

Mycroft didn't look up as Sherlock's mouth opened and closed slowly, like a fish in a bowl. Sherlock knows that after that he went to his room and took all the pills he could find, but he doesn't remember that part. He doesn't remember being found in a pool of vomit, cold and only barely breathing when Mycroft came to apologise later that evening.

He remembers the hospital stay, though, so he will never forgive his brother.


End file.
